Cherished–Emily Maguire

December 12, 2008

Original story: Cherished, Emily Maguire
Adapted by: Sajbrfem
Changes: Pronouns and gender specific terms reversed.
Story length: Aprox 300 words.
License: Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia License.

Cherished

This boy I hang out with sometimes wears shiny red polish, which draws attention to his ragged nails and sunless skin. Silver bikie rings squat on his stumpy fingers.
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Dreamless–Kim Wilkins

November 23, 2008

Original story: Dreamless, Kim Wilkins
Adapted by: Sajbrfem
Changes: Pronouns and gender specific terms reversed, Main character names changed to reflect common gender assumptions.
Story length: Aprox 3500 words.
License: Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia License.

Warning: This story is written in the horror genre and contains concepts and descriptions that may be disturbing to some readers.

Dreamless
I never dreamed at all, until we moved into the wrecking yard. Old Cooch said that was wrong, that I must have dreamed but I never remembered it. I wasn’t sleeping well anymore; dipping in and out with one eye on Peanut. The world of dreams opened up to me, as though I tuned into the channel finally, after eleven years. The birds gave me the first sign.
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Original story: Renovator’s Heaven, Cate Kennedy
Adapted by: Sajbrfem
Changes: Pronouns and gender specific terms reversed, Main character name changed to reflect common gender assumptions.
Story length: Aprox 2000 words.
License: Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia License.

Renovator’s Heaven
Caitlin’s up, she’s been up for hours. Lay in bed at dawn thinking about preparing the woodwork, now she’s got the colour sample cards and she’s thinking it over. She’s considering. Bayleaf? Firtree? Eucalypt Forest?

The three greens swim together. When she blinks she sees rectangles of pink ghosting before her eyelids. She blinks rapidly, tucks the samples away. She’ll think about it later. Plenty of time to get it exactly right.

It’s still a pleasure to stand out on the verandah, running her hand occasionally over the handcut eaves. Christ! How much timber had she discarded before she got that perfect? And the fitting! The chiselling and clamping! The slow wiping away of the bead of glue, the ache in her neck as she sanded with the finest grade paper. Some other craftswoman in the future, Caitlin thinks absently, is going to pull a stepladder under these eaves and do a double take when they realise how they’re made. She’s invited friends round, pointed stuff out to them. It’s a labour of love, she’s told them, following their eyes around the ornate cornices and hand-stripped dado. Sure it takes time and effort, but, well… and here she’s made herself trail off with a wry, resigned smile, a poet’s helpless gesture of perfection.
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